Geraniums blooming in the window of a gas station that’s been owned by two brothers for twenty-five years. The kind of place where they pump your gas and chat about the weather and tell you there’s been a gas station on that site since the 1920’s; they clean your windshield and check your oil and have hydraulic lifts and tools and if you drive in with a flat, they can fix it.

Workers in orange overalls taking down an orange snow fence along the cornfield I pass every day, which has recently become a temporary pond—so realistic it’s attracted a family of geese and a few vacationing swans.

I see that the early morning fisherman who park under the overpass near the creek are back and I wonder what it is they fish for and I try to catch a glimpse of them, which I have never done, and then I see a giant new pot hole in the road… too late.